


When All Good Dreams Come True

by Dragonbat



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/pseuds/Dragonbat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman finds an unexpected gift on a lonely rooftop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All Good Dreams Come True

**Author's Note:**

> Short, sweet, and unbeta’d!

**When All Good Dreams Come True**

Rooftop terraces were rare in South Gotham. In fact, they were virtually non-existent. Until this year, the only time anyone ventured out here was to make repairs, and those rarely.  Batman’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the grimy plastic play table in one corner. Someone had covered most of it with a clean, but faded shawl and tried to pin a Styrofoam plate to it with a straight sewing pin. A corner of a piece of clear plastic wrap fluttered in the slight breeze. He frowned. Children shouldn’t be playing up here; the roof railing wasn’t that high and if anyone got it into their heads to start climbing… He drew in his breath. This wasn’t safe at all. He approached the table, hoping that perhaps, there would be a name or an apartment number affixed to it. He’d worry about how to approach the parents without terrifying them later.

His eyes widened again when he took a good look at the plate. Under the plastic wrap were two oval-shaped cookies, frosted in yellow with a wavy dark-blue line bisecting each one, like a lopsided W. _Almost like…_ He pulled aside the plastic wrap and lifted the folded piece of paper that the cookies had been weighting down. With a gloved hand, he unfolded it and read the pencilled note.

_Dear Batman,_

_I don’t know if it’s silly for me to write to you but last year I wrote to Santa Claus and that didn’t help either. Everyone says that you are not real but I saw the light in the sky when the bad man got out of jail and the next day he was back there so maybe you are. If you are not real that’s ok too. I won’t be mad. I just thought maybe I could try to ask you for help. Yesterday Grandma invited us to spend Christmas with her in Montana. Daddy says we can not afford it. He does not want to tell Grandma because he says she does not have the money to send us and he does not want her to spend it. Can you help?_

_Your Friend_

_Paula Ramirez (Age 7)_

_PS: I hope you like the cookies. I made them myself with my Easy-Bake oven._

_PPS: Sorry I could not find black food coloring for the bats. I hope dark blue is okay._

Batman closed his eyes. He hadn’t anticipated situations like this one when he’d started wearing the cowl more than a year ago. He hadn’t wanted them. Batman was supposed to be a grim-faced avenger, not some Santa stand-in! _She’d baked him cookies. A seven-year-old girl he’d never met had baked him cookies._ He shook his head slightly. The last name was Ramirez and, from the note, it _looked_ like it was the paternal grandmother, which probably meant the same surname. Probably, but not necessarily. He scowled at the page. Where in Montana? _Come on, kid. Give me more to work with!_ He couldn’t believe that he was even thinking seriously about this. Who did she think he was? Superman?

Still, there _was_ time to find out. It was only December sixteenth. She’d given him over a week. He sighed. If this was one of his Justice League compatriots pulling some kind of prank, he would never live this down, but if it was genuine—and he thought it was…

He pulled a block notepad and felt-tip pen out of a utility belt compartment.

_Dear Paula,_

_Thank you for the cookies. Please give me your grandmother’s name and address. I can’t promise, but I’ll try._

He frowned. That was a bit abrupt. He needed something else, but what? He’d acknowledged the gift, asked for data… he’d even done it politely. What else was he supposed to write? It wasn’t that big a piece of paper. His lips twitched as he added one more sentence.

_Dark blue is more than okay._

_Your friend,_

_B_

Two nights later, the phone rang in a bachelor pad at 344 Clinton Avenue in Metropolis. “Bruce?” Clark asked. “Is that you? Why are you whispering?”

There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end. “I need a favor, Kent. I need to get three people to Livingston, Montana in time for the holidays. That's forty miles from the nearest airport and I was hoping you could lend a hand…”


End file.
